


Out of reach

by madscientist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Creepy, F/M, Headcanon, Prequel, Romance, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 00:18:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6633082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madscientist/pseuds/madscientist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A possible explanation of how, and why, Merope did what she did.<br/>One of the most tragic characters and shockingly little exposure. Psychologically accurate.<br/>Two teenagers, a love potion, and we expect it to end well?<br/>Ask yourself, was it love or limerence? Was it passion or Stockholm Syndrome? </p><p>The tragic untold love story. Well, except until after you've read it. Then I guess it's told.<br/>Like, you will cry.<br/>Maybe from the writing, but still.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of reach

She heard him sometimes.

The sound of his horse, a baritone laugh.

Teenage Merope peeked from behind a thick hedgerow, full of blackberries, and spied the happy silhouette from a distance. With his posture and figure, he looked like royalty. A Prince off to rescue a damsel. She remembered her father's rants about their noble magical blood. _What good would that do_ , she wondered, if we couldn't be openly magical? _If we had no grand fortune to fit_ our magical inheritance either? She allowed her mind to wander.

Merope was hardly magical, really. When nobody was around, she was barely competent. Yet an audience made her spells misfire and the inherited wand didn't help.  
"You don't deserve one", her father had sneered, after refusing to let her attend Hogwarts. When pressed for a reason, he said they allowed 'mud-scum' and fraternization was forbidden.

From where Merope was standing, with a slither's line of sight to the Riddle mansion, muggles didn't seem that bad. She couldn't go into town often, because they had little money and a woman wasn't typically allowed without an escort, but they didn't shout, unless they were happy. They played and rode horses and joked with their family. They seemed better off than the Blood of Slytherin.

Merope craved a better life, guilty for wishing to leave her family. _They hadn't been all bad to her, really._ She has a place to sleep and food to eat. Not much, admittedly.

 _But some people have it worse_ , a small cynical voice in her mind plead. _In that regard, it's safe here_.

 _What if I don't want to be safe?_ a smaller, daring voice ventured. _I was born here, will I die here too? I want to escape... I want to be **free**_.

"I shouldn't be considering it" she mumbled to herself, forgetting herself.

"Hello?" Came a deep voice on the other side of the hedgerow. A voice she knew better than her own. She froze, heart thudding with hopeless wishes.

"Hello" the younger Riddle man said brightly, as he craned his head around at her from the end of the hedgerow. "I thought I heard someone. Was my horse bothering you?" He'd allowed it to wander a short distance away, nibbling on a weed. Merope had never rode a horse, she thought blankly.

Merope shook her head and stared, ashamed of her eyes and what he must think of her unladylike appearance. She never looked presentable but oddly, he wasn't looking at her with the disdain of her male relatives. His tone, at least, seemed polite.

"He wasn't on your land, don't worry. You don't need to be so frightened, you know."

A flicker of unknown emotion passed through Merope like a ghost. A flicker of hope. She nodded cautiously. It might be a trap.

"We are neighbors" he grinned and the world lit up.

Merope blinked in shock and stepped back.

Tom Riddle frowned. Quickly gauging the situation, he pulled on a branch in a friendly manner and said, "Mind if I?", as he gestured to the thicket.

"Please" Merope smiled meekly.

"Such a lady." He toned down his smile this time, she was disappointed to note.

Merope watched him eat with a different expression of hunger on her face.

"Does the lady have a name?" He added when he'd finished, sucking his fingertips seductively. After a beat of silence he started again, "To whom do I credit _the meal_?" as he dried his fingers on a handkerchief, waving it at the hedge idly. He received no reply, as Merope couldn't form words, having never been addressed with such kindness. "Listen-" he began, "our families don't _mix_ , but I think it's important we be on name terms, don't you?"

"Merope" she croaked out.

"Tom" he bowed perfectly. For Slytherin's sake, he bowed!

"Why did you bow?" she blurted with regret.

Tom stood erect, slightly offended, "I am a gentleman. One day, my father says I will be Lord of that manor-" he pointed at the huge house across the way. Merope tentatively stepped forward and looked too, she smiled fondly as she'd gazed upon it many times, and never with permission.

"It's lovely."

"Thank you. My ancestors built it." He preened under the attention and turned. "Your... home, seems ...." he struggled "cozy."

Merope felt ashamed, that he was looking and judging the way she was raised. _If only_ he knew they had noble blood coursing through magic veins. It didn't make sense. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" His dark eyes seemed to bore into hers, unflinching. He must've seen her before.

"My family aren't nice" she retorted bitterly, and hated herself for letting the words escape, but Tom surprised her, Tom laughed.

He laughed and her heart sang.

"Shh, I know. I've met them."

"You have?" She peered out from a long curtain of dark hair.

"I tried greeting them once. Just... once." He chuckled. "But you're different?"

"Am I?"

"You haven't threatened me."

Merope blanched with an already sickly face.

"Don't worry," he confided, "plenty of people come from bad families. It won't always be like this."

"Yes, it will."

"Why ever so?"

"I can't escape."

"Nonsense. I don't believe that. This is the twentieth century, anything's possible." He was boisterous. Exuberant. He believed in a future for her. He believed in _her._

"What am I supposed to do?"

"You're set to inherit too, right? You're an heiress in your own right?" he nodded at the shack. She shivered.

"Yes, I suppose" she grudgingly admitted. "I've never thought about it before. What good's a shack?"

"Ah, it isn't the shack, sweet one, it's the land your ancestors built it on. Besides -" he leant over, close to her face, "the place looks as if it might collapse in on itself at any moment. What are you using to keep it in one piece?"

"Magic" she dared jest with a wry smirk.

He smirked in reply and winked.

Merope looked confused. Was he _flirting?_ At _her?_ On _purpose?_

He sighed and rubbed his face, slightly irritable from the day's exertions. "You don't get it, do you?"

Merope shook her head. _Had this all been a trick?_ Her heart sank. _No, please don't take this away from me. I can't-_

"You have a problem. My father has a problem too. Perhaps we might find a solution-" he stepped in elegantly, she could feel his breath on her face "- together."

She gasped. 

He stared, managing to hold both her eyes at once, quite an impressive feat. She was transfixed. Honest to Merlin, she almost swooned.

"What?" she tried not to faint.

"Well," he added conspiratorially, wrapped a muscular arm around her shoulder, "you want to escape. You want to leave, all this." He brandished at the shack as an afterthought. "And my father wants to expand his real estate portfolio...."

"His, what?" her voice was tiny and high-pitched like a bird.

Tom edged gently, his lower lip brushing her ear and her legs went weak. "Sell me your inheritance. A promise, between the two of us. It'll be _our little secret_." His voice was deliberately erotic, but she didn't want to resist.

Merope inhaled sharply. "We _can't_ -" saying 'We' thrilled her more than the offer.

"Yes." He was firm and his arm tensed and snaked down, to her waist, where it pulled her in. "Yes, we _can_. We can do _anything we want,_ when we inherit. I'll give you a good price for it too. With the money, you can go anywhere you want, you'll be free as a bird, and I, will be Lord of all I survey..." He beamed with pride. " _Imagine it. The future we could have together."_

"Wait..." Merope hesitated and silenced herself.

Tom withdrew and stood at a normal distance again. Her heart sank. "Pardon?"

Merope stuttered.

Tom shook his head. "This isn't to be borne. I am a Lord! You cannot refuse me?" he was incredulous.

Merope shook her head wildly "No! I would never!"

"Excellent", his eyes narrowed and his lip curled. "Then it's settled."

"I-" She began to protest, to defend Slytherin's claim, her blood, but she didn't want him to leave even more. It wasn't as if she could tell him who she was. It was hopeless again.

Tom waited for her to close her mouth before he continued. "I want this to be a surprise. Mention it to no one. Once I inherit and the funds are available, we will make arrangements."

Merope extended her hand in questioning, Tom grabbed it from the air and pecked the back. She made a little noise she hoped he didn't hear as Marvolo's voice rang like falling pewter over the clearing. "Their horse is loose again, grab it."

"I must adieu." Tom whispered excitedly, sparkling eyes caressing her face once more. "A Lord needs his horse to rescue fair damsels!" He sped around the corner before Merope could let out a sigh. "Gentlemen, I think you'll find that steed is mine!" he strode over with a newfound confidence.

Merope spied through the hedgerow again.

"What was you doin' in there?" Marvolo rounded on him, but to his credit, Tom didn't flinch. "On my land?"

"I was looking for my horse" he replied politely, with a hint of a sneer that thrilled Merope.

"Ain't no horses in there, 'cept you mean Merope" Morfin chimed.

Marvolo laughed. Tom looked as serious as a statue. "She was helping me, actually."

"Oh no" Merope mumbled, hastily pulling her wand from the windowsill and summoned the Ministry, knowing of the time delay. She'd done it before. 

"Was she now?" Morfin drew himself up to his full height like a bear. Merope darted around the hedge and her cross eyes briefly met Tom's. 

"Yes, she looked on your grounds for me and said it couldn't be there." He lied smoothly. "I'm most grateful to the lady." He smiled kindly at her, in full view of her relatives.

"Lady?" Marvolo reeled. "In that house?"

"From the things you say at the public house, assuming your claims to noble blood are true, perhaps you might wish to act like it?" Tom openly sneered.

Marvolo reached for his wand, as Merope pushed Tom away and the Ministry arrived.

"Traitors!" Marvolo spat, as the Ministry enforcers told him to drop his wand. "I done nothing wrong!"

"Mister Gaunt, you have raised your wand at a Muggle. Do not resist questioning."

Tom was lying stupefied, by a Ministry official, a small distance away. The horse too.

Morfin attempted to grab a Ministry official in anger and that was it. "Mister and Mister Gaunt, this is your official warning. Any more incidents against Muggles of this nature and it will be Azkaban." 

* * *

The final seconds of Ministry intervention were erased from Tom's memory. Merope was full of sorrow at this. Why couldn't he know? Why hide?  
He falsely remembered walking away peacefully with his horse after taking a well-earned jab at her father, as if nobody reached for a weapon.

Morfin and Marvolo had been debating whether to get revenge. They decided against it. "A filthy mud ain't worth Azkaban, son" Marvolo corrected. "And _you_..."

"You play any tricks like talking to blood traitors and I'll kill 'im" Morfin warned her.

Merope believed them. 

Merope was overjoyed to have made a friend in this world.

She knew better than to show it.

* * *

Months passed with hardly a glance.

Tom rode a little closer to the shack, thinking he had nothing to fear from her family, as if to gloat, and Merope hoped to send her a message of support.

She watched him from the doorway sometimes, or the window, and he passed close by the house. A few times, he met her gaze and smiled. Once, he tipped his hat.

He never stopped.

Merope knew it was for the best.

She didn't feel it.

* * *

One day, a year later, Merope was trying to weed the garden. On her knees around the shack, she heard Tom talking to his father.

"We'll tear it down. It's worthless. I can let my wife decide what to make of it."

"You'll marry, then?" 

"I suppose I must."

"I'll find you someone."

A fissure of envy struck Merope, who almost broke down in middle of the flowerbed in tears.

* * *

Merope had seen Tom in the company of others, and yet it wasn't truly him. Not the Tom  _she_ knew.

When in the company of his family's, his father's friends, he rode distantly from the shack and never glanced in its direction. 

When he must have seen the waif-like figure of Merope in a window, he refused to turn his head when she waved. She hoped he'd invite her to join them, or maybe introduce her? His friends saw. His friends laughed at her.

She was humiliated. 

She didn't wave at them again. 

* * *

Merope had endured taunts about Tom, less so recently.   
She missed it. The connection and the jealousy it inspired in her father and brother. They were protective.

"Shall we tell 'er?" Morfin taunted at last. "Let 'er know what mudbloods are really like?"

"Merope, we have news about your pet Lord Fauntleroy over the way. He wouldn't want you now even if you flung your maidenhead at him, I'd wager. He's got a pretty thing he was showing round town", Marvolo informed her darkly. "I'd take her."

Merope concealed her tears until they'd gone to bed.

* * *

 

Merope waited until nobody was home and Tom rode out alone.

"Is it true?" She stepped out from the boundary of their lands, angry.

Tom stopped in his tracks. "What?" he said, impassively.

"Who is she?"

"Ah!" He smiled, a hint of cruelty about the mouth. "She is very _rich_."

Merope withheld the tears in her eyes but they shone. "Is that all that _matters_ to you?"

"Isn't it?" Tom saw her stand defiant, indignant, and jumped down off his horse.

"I was going to tell you."

"Why? You have no regard for me, you treat me like an animal, you barely even  _look_ at me!" She shrieked, willing him to come closer with all her heart.

Tom's expression became heavy and his eyes casually lidded. "I'm looking at you _now_."

Merope sniffed with false pride and let the silence hang.

"If I don't marry, I shan't inherit. And we wouldn't want that, would we?" he finished with that same brightness she remembered every night before she went to bed, to ensure pleasant dreams.

"What _we_? We are nothing, you made it clear you think I'm as little as they do" she gestured to the shack and buried her face in her hands.

"Darling" a sweet soothing tone crept in his voice as he held her shoulders. "You remember the plan, yes?"

Merope looked up. "Yes" she hastened, shakily.

"I must marry. Never fear, I don't love her. Rich women are practically obliged to be boring" he drawled. "In fact..." he trailed off.

"What?" Merope was impatient. She wanted to believe him.

"Perhaps I'll still call on you. After I'm wed. Maybe while my wife is otherwise.. indisposed, in pregnancy?"

"A mistress?! How dare you-" She slapped him. Hard. She'd never struck anyone in her entire life.

Tom staggered back. "How dare you think that a plain little peasant is worth more!" he roared and made a beeline for her. 

"I am  _not_ a peasant!" the conviction in her voice shocked Tom like a wave. He stood, staring. He almost believed her. "I come from a noble line of great-" she stopped herself.

"Great  _what?_ Not great _beauties_ , that's for certain." He glared.

Merope gasped. " _You_ , Sir, are _not_ a gentleman." She steeled herself from crying.

"A lady doesn't strike a man."

"A man doesn't try to make a good woman a lady of the night."

"All women look the same in the dark" he grimaced. "Or so my father tells me.. I will marry. It is his wish. I must do my duty to my family. You _understand_ " he finished with a pointed, caustic note, standing uneasily and glancing at the shack.

"And what of my wishes?" she plead. "Am I not human? Don't I deserve _love_?"

"Are you simple? Are we not the same age?" he recovered. "You may find a husband too, with the sale of that dump, and one befitting your station. I charitably offered you a little fun, a small diversion from your miserable existence while you live here, a caged bird, and you _dare_ refuse me?" His deep voice was close to hysterical.

Merope scoffed. She'd never made that sound before. "If I can't have your love, what would I want with your body?" she practiced the cool tone of her father but her eyes betrayed the pain.

"You think you're so special?" He seized on the weakness in her eyes. "You will age and you will die, poor and alone. Plain, poor crone." He mocked harshly, wrapping his beautiful lips around the ugly words. "Then who will want you?" He spun on his heel and looked over his shoulder. "Her name's Cecilia. I'll be saying it in bed." He swaggered away, pinched nose in the air.

Merope watched him leave until his familiar silhouette crested the horizon and he turned onto a footpath. No tears. Fists balled into her dress.

* * *

 

To taunt her, he brought this 'Cecilia' creature over the way the next week, in the early morn; when he knew she'd be alone, knee deep in mud, collecting herbs on the other side of the shack, invisible for all intents and purposes.

He made loud jokes at her family's expense.

"The son's quite mad..." carried over. _Did he make that especially loud?_ Merope wondered.

He didn't mention her, though. This wounded her more than any insult could. 'His girl', as the villagers called her, saw the snake Morfin had nailed to the door, to remind Merope of her heritage compared to 'the commoner' in the fancy house.

"Don't look at it, Cecilia, _darling._ " 

She knew that was deliberate.

Merope's silent tears watered the plants, hands trembling, impotent, in the dirt. She cursed him in her mind before reproaching herself. 

_Why can't **I** be 'his girl'? _ She disgusted herself by thinking, finally.

* * *

 

 _Aren't I good enough?_ she pondered aimlessly, watching him from the window. He was with Cecilia again, the pony plodding back oblivious. Merope admired the dress she could never hope to afford.

She couldn't leave while the Ministry official was here. Morfin had hexed the horse for trespassing on 'our land', after spying them trekking back from it earlier that day. . 

Honestly, a horse?

Merope thought he would've hexed Tom, if he hadn't been riding with Cecilia, and hence, clearly not visiting Merope. The Ministry seemed to think Morfin had missed, and wasn't aiming at the horse for his own amusement. 

Her relatives never missed. The Slytherin shot, they called it.

Marvolo talked Morfin out of it. Considering their warning was levied regarding Muggles, technically this Ogden fellow had to let them go. Merope edged toward the door in alarm.

Marvolo didn't like being lectured thus in his own house and fired warning shots at the officer, who knew better than to engage.

Falling backwards out of the door Merope opened helpfully, Bob bumped into whom other than the future Lord Riddle? Bob apologized while hastily beating a retreat. Merope winced, shrinking behind the door as Cecilia laughed at the pitiable man. Her laugh was callous and made her golden features twist in ugliness. Tom's laugh was aimed at the man too, but his eyes darted to Merope in the doorway briefly, with a mischievous glint, before nodding with faux respect at her, reining his horse to jerk its head and trotting away. Cecilia and Tom left a trail of smugness and sarcasm in their wake, respectively.

"Even the Muggles think the Ministry is a joke" Morfin grumbled from inside as he watched Merope look on.

"Close the door", Marvolo ordered. Merope happily obliged, resigned to her fate.

* * *

 

"Dangerous" Morfin warned her quietly in Parseltongue, a few days later. It wasn't in his nature to be quiet. Marvolo was asleep.

Merope looked up from her chores.

"Dangerous to be making eyes at a Muggle."

"Don't you mean Mudblood?" she bit back, a sharp hiss on the slur.

He chuckled and crouched. "Changing a name don't change what he is, sister."

"And? What else is there?"

"I seen you, seeing him."

Merope frowned.

"No more seein' 'im, ya hear?" This was his version of compassion. "Or we'll need to do summin'."

"I don't want to", Merope was somewhat frank. 

Morfin stood again. "Good. Good girl. Y'ain't goin' anywhere."

 _I am not a girl,_ she thought. Morfin's thoughts came in patches. Merope could listen in when things were peaceful. He went back to his soup at the table and thought about the local pub. Merope engrossed herself in the scrubbing and her thoughts.

_Am I good? Marvolo thinks nothing I do is good._

_I wasn't good enough to go to school. The one we founded._

_Morfin thinks I want to, that Tom would... no. He wouldn't run away with me. It's no riddle what he wants._

_Tom didn't speak to me as if I were.. good. He wants me to be like a common ..whore._ The dirty water splashed over her hands as she lost concentration.

_Am I going anywhere? Do I need them?_

Merope always liked water. It was one of the few things she and her ancestor Slytherin had in common.

* * *

 

It had been almost a year. Tom was of age and virile as would be expected. Merope couldn't help herself, she watched Tom in passing. 

She didn't know why. She heard in the village he was to be engaged soon.

This crushed her and she didn't dwell on the feeling. She rejected it.

He took to riding alone lately, to avoid the nasal-toned opinions of Cecilia. 

He was right, Merope admitted to herself. _Rich women were boring._

 _Why had he put it off?_ They were nineteen. Merope doubted he could delay much longer.

Why did Tom need such solitary time? Merope sought connection, quite the opposite longing. Today he walked, paced, really...

Tom saw her distinctive eyes in the hedgerow. "Boo," he stopped and stared back.

Merope blinked and otherwise froze.

"Come out, Merope." He sighed, as tired as she felt. "I need a friend to talk to."

She licked her lips and stepped out. "You can't be here."

Tom nodded. "Listen, I hope... are you well?"

Merope shrugged.

"I may have over-reacted, when last we spoke. I have matured since, I swear it."

Merope doubted it but accepted his apology graciously. _Never question such a man._

"Would you consider being friends again?"

"What kind of friends?" Merope was visibly guarded.

"Whatever you want," his vivacity was fake but Merope didn't care. He cared enough to put on a show for her, that counted. "It's the pressure getting to me, I-, I-" his reserve consumed him.

She looked at him, trying to conceal the longing, long felt, from her eyes. She licked her lips again and gulped. It was safer.

"I need you." His words were loaded with a hundred possible meanings, tinged with the hint of a promise. His eyes were sincere.

Merope grasped at it. "Tom-" she reached for his shoulder comfortingly with her left hand.

"I'm lost. I need help. Cecilia is a bitch-,"

Merope felt a tiny thrill run through her body.

"-my mother insists I marry her because she's suitable, but I don't even like her. Father doesn't care either way, he wants an heir. I want the same thing you want, it stuck with me ever since you know. I want to escape. I want to be free. Of them. Of all of them." Tom's face was wild, raven hair twisting in the spring breeze.

Merope's breath caught in her dry throat. It was everything she wanted to hear. Desperately craved to hear, as she finally allowed herself to hope. Her other hand lightly stroked a silken tress back into place. Tom stepped in.

"If you've changed your mind about selling to me, I understand. What's one more bit of bad news, eh?" His laugh was nervous. She'd never heard him be this open with anyone before.

"I hadn't changed my mind."

Tom beamed at her and it was warmer than the sun. A ray of hope shone into her dark world. The rest of the place fell away until it was only her and  _him._ She was in _love._

"You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that, sweet thing. You're blameless in this, a victim, as I am. I knew you'd understand. Oh, Merope, you _understand me_." His hand covered hers, pulling it from his shoulder. "How can I thank you?"

Merope blushed and bowed her head, embarrassed by the attention.

Tom looked around and saw a wild flower by his feet. He plucked it, held it aloft and still kneeling as he looked up at her, coincidentally holding her left hand, Merope was sure he would propose. 

Had Morfin's hive spell not hit him square in the back, as he fell onto her with a 'whoof' sound.

Morfin pulled him up by the back of the neck as Merope screamed. He barely looked human.

"Isn't so handsome, is he?" Morfin shouted in English, hurting Tom's ears. "I warned you!"

"Stop it! You're hurting him!" Merope begged as Morfin shook Tom's neck and brandished his face roughly like a chicken. Tom was momentarily too dazed to speak.

"What was that?" Marvolo followed swiftly, slightly drunk and carrying a brown paper package underarm. 

"The mud was wooing our Merope" Morfin ratted.

"Traitor!" Marvolo reached for Merope's throat and his fingers closed in.

Thankfully, the Ministry arrived and stunned the both of them. Tom was blinded by the hives and fumbling on the ground. "Merope? What's going on?"

"We placed a trace on them after our last meeting", Bob Ogden informed her. "How long has this been happening?"

Merope looked at Tom, helpless on the floor for showing her kindness and decided she would lie for her wicked family no longer. "Always."

* * *

 

Merope gave a full account to an appalled Bob Ogden. He could hardly scribble fast enough.  
She owed it to Tom, and to herself.

She would escape.

She needed an opportunity.

"Six months at least," Bob clued her in. "We'll hold them until trial. Get out before they do." His eyes were well-intentioned.

"What do you want us to do with your Muggle?" his colleague had finally brought Tom's hives down and he was enjoying a restful sleep.

Merope's heart leapt at being addressed as 'his girl'. "What do you need to do?" 

"We must erase the last of his memory, but we don't know what happened to instigate this... unpleasantness." Mr Ogden explained. "I wanted to leave it 'til last, but we really must know."

Merope gulped. She was going to say it. "He went down on one knee, took my hand, and proposed."

Well, she was mostly telling the truth. This is what Morfin would report too. Nothing would save her beloved Tom from Marvolo's wrath after he'd heard Morfin's version. He'd snapped at her, a witch, didn't he? Tom would be next if she couldn't persuade him to listen to her. If the Ministry could alter memories, and they wanted Merope's opinion, it can't be wrong. She imagined the vision she desired, summoned it vividly with her remaining hope and Bob's friend extracted the corrected, blissful memory to place in Tom's mind.

"Congratulations," they wished her farewell, "the spell will take full effect once we've apparated. His disorientation will wear off in a few hours; look after him, will you? Good luck, Miss Gaunt." 

Merope sat on the grass beside an unconscious Tom Riddle in anticipation. "Thank you" her eyes swam with gratitude.

* * *

 

"My love?" Tom blinked up at a fawning Merope.

"Yes, dearest?"

"Sweetheart, I believe I have fallen over." He gawped at his sprawled legs and Merope giggled.

"I hugged you and we fell together." 

"Oh." He pulled himself up. "We were so happy, weren't we? But I do believe, I have a splitting headache, pudding." He pointed at the brown package Marvolo had dropped. "Is that mine?"

"That is mine, darling." Merope scooped it up. "Consider it an engagement gift from my father before he went away. Come, we will celebrate with a drink."

"Are they really gone?"

"For a while, they've left us alone together."

"Ah, at _last,_ " Tom scooped her up into his arms and lifted her, spinning them around in circles.

"I told you, I want to be with you _forever_ " Merope teased him. "Did you forget?"

"No mere headache can make a man forget his One True Love."

"Shall we?" Merope beamed.

"Ladies first." Tom bowed deeply.

* * *

 

Merope had fixed him a drink, Marvolo's wine for special occasions, like a Sunday.

They toasted their future together and whiled away the hours chatting like an old married couple. They had so much in common, Merope was in a dream.

She'd unpacked the bundle while they were speaking. There was cash. A lot of cash. Merope didn't know nor care how it'd been acquired. They weren't her problems anymore.

"What could we do with that?" Tom fingered the notes expertly.

There was also a large pink bottle. Merope recognized it. Marvolo had slipped it in the drinks of women at the pub when he wanted them to laugh at his stories.

"Enough to last us a few months, sweet thing." Tom finished counting.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. I, I was wondering when we might tell my parents? I was thinking this eve, but my headache is returning and I think I must be going." Tom rose. "I don't feel right."

Merope panicked. She decanted a few drops of the bubblegum pink fluid into the bottom of Tom's wine. "Wait, you haven't finished your drink."

"To us" Tom smiled warmly as he met Merope's eyes in the toast. As if it had always been this way.

That's how it began.

* * *

 

Merope soon discovered five drops was sufficient in Tom's morning drink. More, and she'd have to fend him off. "Not until the wedding night, I know" he pouted.

They'd ran away to a nearby village the next morning, sneaking out from the invisible side of the shack. Merope had her cash, her wand and her locket. "Apple tree wood is good luck for couples" she explained as a superstition.

Tom had stole his basic belongings in a bundle during the night.

"Robbing my own home, I feel like such a vandal!" His voice was insatiable. "They deserve to be abandoned, I'm through with their society. The days where they demand of me, rule over me, are over."

After a day's rest, they moved on and eloped proper.

* * *

 

It became routine for Merope to fix Tom's drink. He insisted on it. "I love it when you do it, love."

She wore a beautiful ivory gown when they married.

The ceremony was perfect.

The wedding night was passionate. Merope had given him ten drops because it was a special occasion. He ravished her. The candles burned down. Merope was divinely, perfectly happy.

The name Cecilia was never mentioned.

* * *

 

"Oh, _Merope_."

She turned and looked at him sheepishly.

Tom sighed deeply. It was easy to forget when he looked at her any other way.

"You shouldn't be drinking with me this morning. And many mornings hereafter. Your belly is full."

Merope's eyes widened as she looked down for the first time in weeks and remembered what was missing. She was late.

He snuck behind her and placed his hands to rest on her stomach. How had time passed this swiftly? 

Merope could swear she felt a kick. She wasn't alone anymore.

An innocent life was involved.

* * *

 

Merope didn't have the heart to slip the love potion in Tom's tipple the following morning. Or his tea at lunch.

By evening, he was distressed.

"Merope? What's happening? I've come over quite queer." He looked unwell.

Merope fumbled with her apron. It was growing tight on her. "I need to tell you something."

"Go on, love."

"Your feelings for me, they've grown?"

"Naturally, darling." Simple words rolled off his smooth tongue. "With every happy day and every passionate night."

Merope relaxed. "Do you love me more now than when we first met?"

"I'll always love you." He kissed her, it sounded so innocent it broke Merope's heart.

"Why do you love me?"

"Look at the life we've built together. We're free!" His laugh was gay. "Free!"

"What if we had something in common, with that story you told me?"

"Which one? There were many loves in the library I read about."

"Tristan and Isolde?"

"Are you secretly a Princess?"

Merope giggled.

"You're my Lady now, young lady." His eyes narrowed.

"In the story, you told me she caught his eye by a-"

"Love potion?"

"Yes."

"Yes, she did."

"Why?"

"To get him to notice her."

"Do you think he loved her, later?"

"Yes, why ever not?"

"Tom, I've been giving you this." She held up the bottle, with about a third remaining. "It doesn't make love, it increases ardour. Simple affection. Whatever comes and grows later, is real..."

Tom studied her with a curious expression of bewilderment, alarm and shock on his face. "I don't understand."

"Husband?"

Tom flinched. "She was a witch."

"Yes."

"Witches aren't real."

Merope gently placed the bottle before Tom, picked up her wand and gently levitated it, as if to clean underneath.

Tom's eyes widened. 

Merope sent arcs of beautiful pink sparks to dance a heart around Tom's face. His mouth went slack, his face unreadable. Merope gave him a half-smile.

"Impossible."

"Tom-"

"You  _tricked me?_ "

"No, Tom-"

"You  _lied to me-"_

_"No, Tom-"_

_"_ I married you-"

"Tommy bear-" she reached to drape her arms on his shoulders the way he liked.

"I _loved_ you, _made love_ to you-"

Merope was speechless. Past tense?

Tom ran over to the sink and threw up.

"Don't touch me!" he shouted, incredulous and pushed her away as she tried to console him.

"Let me explain!" she begged.

"I need to think. I need space, woman. Get away from me!"

"How dare you refuse _me_! After all I've done for you. I gave up everything," Merope wanted to cry, it was the hormones again. "Stay, listen to me. For our child, Tom."

"What was real?"

"All of it." Merope was becoming hysterical.

"Bullshit" Tom hissed. "I don't trust you."

"Tom, you wanted to be with us," she held her belly, "you needed a little push, that was it, I swear to Slytherin-"

"Who's Slytherin? Is he the father of that thing inside you? It could be a fucking fairy as far as I know!"

"My ancestor. A great and powerful wizard."

"You're mad as the lot of them said."

"You saw it. You know it's real."

"I don't what's real with you anymore."

"Tom, you chose to be with me. We eloped together. You picked out my wedding dress. You said the vows. You _fucked_ me, Tom, remember that?!" She pointed at her stomach.

"I was... drunk." He seemed to be bleary, the cumulative effect of coming off this much potion at once made him insensible. 

"This is your responsibility. We are your family now. Your duty resides here. I protected you from my father, I saved your life and almost died doing it, as you will protect us now."

"I was love-drunk. Whatever you people call it."

"You people?"

"You circus freaks" he spat. "What if that thing comes out _broken,_ with tentacles? Horns? _Scales!_ "

"How could you say such hurtful things? This is your son, it's a boy, I can feel it. Just like his papa."

"Tell that by witchcraft, did you? I look at you, both, and I feel numb." The radiance drained from his eyes. "There isn't a magical solution to my ennui."

"It's the shock, Tom, wait. Speak to me with a clear mind," she implored.

"You should've thought about that before intoxicating me. I must be hallucinating this nightmare. What are you going to do next? Chain me to the radiator, Merope?" 

"Aren't you going to-"

"I don't owe you anything. What have you even done to me?"

"Nothing! I haven't hurt you!"

"You've ruined me! I'll be a laughing stock! Who will want me? You've killed me, Merope, you've dragged me down and I've become as worthless as you."

She let him pack. She had to. She couldn't deny him anything.

"What about your son? How are we meant to live without you?"

"Spare me."

"What do I do?"

"Magic. I wish you would disappear," he shoved her back from the door, vindictively. "I'll die happy if I never see either of you again."

Merope cradled her belly, aghast and dropped to the floor, horrified. It was the last time she ever saw him again.

* * *

 

Her dejection and prayer that Tom might reappear, having changed his mind, faded into a gloom. He wasn't going to do the right thing by their baby either.

Alone, the money lasted longer, if she rationed it out.

Her sole reason for living was the life inside her.

"I won't let you go" she whispered.

Nobody would believe he was legitimate. Nobody gave her work.

She ended up in London.

She discovered work was offered according to recommendation. 

Merope was all alone in the world.

Except for Tom Jr, of course.

Already she named him, dreamed of the likeness of his father cradled in her arms.

How was she to find wizards? She'd never needed to before.

Assuming she went to St Mungo's, the famous hospital, wouldn't her family hear of it?

Wherever else? Her magic was at an all-time low, she was directing her energy to keeping the child alive. Her legs almost gave out under the strain of walking. She refused to cede this final thing. She'd sold the locket, a while ago, for food. The future was more important than her past. 

"Where is the nearest place that is safe for children?" she requested at the tourist information desk. 

"Aside from the hospital?"

"No hospital, thank you."

"Wool's orphanage. Happy New Year, tomorrow." 

Merope took the information gratefully. She'd spent the last of her money to come. In the cold winter wind, she wrapped her clothing double around the protruding bump.

"Almost there, Tommy, baby. A new beginning."

She stood at the entrance.

"Help us," she asked the young woman who answered, before she collapsed.

Her water had broken.

* * *

 

After a long labour, Merope saw the child. He was worth the suffering.

A healthy baby boy. It was a miracle.

She named him, almost breathless at her achievement. "Tom. Marvolo. Riddle." She smiled weakly. His birthright, should he choose to accept it. The only other gift she could bestow.

It was done. He was alive. He was truly free of her accursed life.

"I hope he looks like his papa," she willed, beaming with pride.

The matron left with the tiny infant to perform some checks.

_... spare me ..._

Merope was losing blood quickly, disoriented, she'd expended the last of her magical reserves keeping Tom Jr separate from her bouts of stress, melancholy and hunger.

_... you will die, poor and alone ..._

She missed his father. She missed Tom. She loved him still. Somewhere, somehow, he would come. He would rescue their son. He loved his family with all his heart.

With her dying breath, she reached for her wand to heal herself.

By a few inches, it was out of reach. She swooned from the blood loss.

In her final moment, she died with one loving wish: _I want him to be safe here._

Thusly, bestowing her mother's protection on the orphanage, to which Tom had to be returned every summer until he came of age. A Professor learned in wards had recognized the trace of magic about the grounds upon visiting, eleven years later.

* * *

 

Merope Riddle's son never found his mother's grave, although not for lack of trying. The records didn't exist. Perhaps the Blitz buried them. Who would care for her or her life? Who would shed a tear? Mrs Cole had stolen her wedding band from the warm body. Her son could never prove it. She'd pawned it after he'd read it in her guilty thoughts, watching him do strange things with snakes that seemed to... seek him out. The son learned one salient fact: for some reason, his mother was buried with a wand, like the children played with when he wasn't invited. Mrs Cole called it a 'mad superstition' in her mind, _who reaches for a stick as they're dying?_

"She wasn't mad."

She looked down at him in horror. 

"She was better than you," he announced with a fresh tone of arrogance, like his father before him.

Mrs Cole sent him to his bed. He curled up, lost in thought.

 _Could I be special?_ He thought. _Could I be magical?_

* * *

Ten years later...

_She must have changed her name to his when they married._

_Why can't I find him in the Pureblood record?_

Tom slammed shut another dusty tome in the Hogwarts library. Dissatisfaction ruined his aura of prefectly cool.

 _She borrowed his wand, or had her own. He must be here. Where are you?_ He looked at the stacks remaining, intimidated.

He decided to follow another lead in the meantime. Over the summer, he would pay a visit to a Little Hangleton. He found the address in the phone book at the orphanage. Mrs Cole was happy to oblige, she wanted shot of him.

* * *

 

Tom Riddle didn't find what he expected.

Neither of them did.

"How could you?" The son challenged, wand in hand. "You were supposed to be so _noble_! You were supposed to be _different_!" he smashed a vase against the wall. "My Professor told me, gave me false hope all these years, and I hate you both!" He smashed a plate, "Common muggle _scum!_ Why didn't you _save me?_ Why did you _leave me_? **Tell the truth**!"

His father looked scared, vague memories flickering through his thoughts.  
The grandparents were already dead, they had laughed at his school robes, and their grandson had hoped they'd be _proud_. This was the most disappointing moment of his short life.  
"My son-" his traitorous blood began weakly.

"You abandoned her, you never wanted me. All these years, I supposed..." he laughed softly, almost manic, at a hysterical pitch and never laughed another way again.

_"Tom-"_

" _How dare you_ reject her? How dare you reject me this night? _Bastard_ , is it?" The fire roared and hissed. "You married her. You know what you did, I can smell it. Blood will out."

"Tom, please, listen to me-"

Tom had listened, to his mind. He was reminded of the last time he saw the woman he now knew to be his mother. They shared the same features; the pallor, the inky hair, a pitiful romanticism, thinking a Muggle would appreciate their gift, a belief he came to know was naive. 

"You _dare_ use my name? I suppose I'll have to destroy that too, because it's tainted by association with you, forevermore. You abandoned a teenager before. She loved you and you wasted it. Your words tortured her." His magical theory classes sprang to mind. "She lost her power because of you. _You killed her!_  ...You won't die happy, father." It was a promise.

Tom read his mind, yes. Gutted it. Completely cleared it out and left a blubbering mess where the man he once desperately craved had stood. The unjust suffering of his mother caused a newfound wave of revulsion, which crystallized the Slytherins' opinions of these animals. He had cried for this meeting, shivering on a cold ward in a cage, how many times?

How many times had his mother hoped for his return? The silly fairytale of being reunited?

Her son was faced with the reality behind that mirage.

She was innocent. His father took advantage. Tom knew manipulation when he saw it. He wanted a piece of property and a shag.

And he never looked. Never  _cared. For her. For him. A single ounce of paternal concern._

This stranger humiliated his family. _Mocked us._ They had nothing. Caressing the wand in his hands, Tom would right this wrong.

Reading his mind was the warm-up act. This wasn't enough. A spot of torture always made him feel better. He went to town. 

"Do you love her now?" he asked, until his 'father', as he spat the term of endearment with venom, begged to join her in death.

"I loved her... I deserve to suffer... I didn't listen... Please, stop.... End it. Finish me. Take it. I've been hollow ever since I left Merope, an outcast like her, the way I teased her, it was the worst thing I've ever done, if I could do it again," the man begged time to explain. "I swear on your _Slytherin_ , I wouldn't! I was too ashamed, and I knew I couldn't find her...." The man blubbered like a babe.  _Sorry, I'm so sorry, oh Merlin, I'm sorry..._

At hearing this filthy Muggle use his mother's true name, Tom watched in awe for a few moments, appalled at the brass cheek and swiftly ended him. He would come to regret doing it so soon.

Love was a weakness. It brought misery. All other's love caused him was pain. It was not a mistake the son would make. Dumbledore was wrong, he had no destiny with Grindelwald, pull the other one. His mother didn't die to protect him from that. Another Dark Wizard? Join the party. He must become greater, a _Dark Lord,_ as he looked about the mansion. He would reject the suicidal offer of alliance when he returned to the castle. Gryffindor and Slytherin were never meant to be. Let Dumble-bore handle it himself, stick his own neck out. He wasn't falling for pretty words like his mother did.

He pinched a few valuables on the way out.  _My inheritance. I **am** a Lord. I am The Lord. _

 _This_ was his birthright. He would take his father's gifts, the face, the charm, the title - but _he_ would shape his legacy. 

He stepped over his father's body deftly. Patricide _was_ a classic.

"Tut, tut, tut. And they'll call _me_ a monster..." The Dark Lord said dryly. "Goodnight, Daddy." He turned off the lights with a wave of his wand.

 

He waltzed outside and inhaled a lungful of night air, _free._

He spoke a vow as if to her ghost, for the first and final time in his life.

 _"Thank you, mother. Your sacrifice will not be in vain, Merope. For the blood of Slytherin shall never die."_ His tone feather-light as his conscience.

This was his revenge. He resolved to live forever. By any means.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Dun dun duuuuuun!  
> *dramatic percussion*
> 
> Tom Riddle Jr got his manipulation skills and power lust from his father's side.  
> His mother was sneaky but romantic.  
> This is my headcanon, fight me if you think I'm wrong.
> 
> OT: Merope got some serious side-eye in the Afterlife and chucked it in to spent eternity comforting him in Limbo.


End file.
